Chapter 10

"You had no right to do what you did, Ezra. No right at all!" Lydia exclaimed, storming into her brother's study as Philip's carriage pulled away.

Her brother looked up at her and sighed, setting aside his quill and narrowing his eyes. "And what else was I supposed to do, Lydia? Wait for you to fall into scandal? I'm certain Caroline saw the two of you together, and?—"

"What does Caroline have to do with it? I don't care about Caroline," Lydia scoffed, cutting him off. "Why was she even there? She and Edward were meant to be in Bath. There was some ridiculous excuse about wanting to be part of the London Season. But why? She doesn't ever need to attend another ball for as long as she lives. She's married now."

She felt exasperated at the constant mention of Caroline and what she might—or might not—have seen. It was immaterial, and if Ezra had based this entire charade on the possibility, then he was a fool.

"It matters because of whom she might tell, Lydia, that's what. I did what I had to do," Ezra replied.

"And now I'm to marry Philip without giving so much as an opinion on the matter, am I? And what about him? Is he to marry me without a choice? I'm not in love with him. How can I be? We barely know one another," Lydia hissed.

"You knew one another well enough to slip away to the shrubbery as you did," Ezra countered.

Lydia threw her hands up in frustration. "Nothing happened!" she cried.

"Good, that means you can enter your marriage with a clean conscience—both of you," Ezra replied.

Lydia did not know what to say. Her brother had always been stubborn, but now he was simply being ridiculous. It was ludicrous—the very idea of marrying Philip, of marrying a man she had not seen for seven years…

"But you can't truly expect me to marry him, can you?" Lydia asked.

The thought of it was astonishing—was he really being serious? For a moment, Lydia wondered if it was all a joke. But Ezra was not the sort of person to joke. Had it been Graham, she might have believed it, but not Ezra…

"Derek's making the arrangements as we speak. You'll need a special license from the Archbishop. He'll go to Lambeth Palace this afternoon and make the arrangements there. You can be married very soon—by next week, perhaps," Ezra said, and the look on his face told her he was not joking.

Lydia sighed. She had fought, she had argued, she had tried to resist, but it seemed there could be no getting away from the fact of what was to be. Her brother had made his decision. He was caught up in the fear of a scandal, his own reputation as much at risk as her own.

"Then I don't have a choice, do I?" she said.

Ezra sighed. "Lydia, you know I've always tried to be fair. You're my charge, but you're also my sister, and I know you're not like many women, in many respects."

Lydia narrowed her eyes. "What are you saying?" she asked.

Ezra sighed. "You've set yourself up too readily against the rest of Society, Lydia. You delight in being different. But men don't want different. They want?—"

"And what would you know about what women want?" Lydia bit out. "You deign to arrange my marriage, but you can't arrange your own, can you? Are you any closer to marriage than you were, Ezra?"

Ezra blushed. "It's different, Lydia. It's not… we're not talking about me," he snapped.

Lydia smiled triumphantly. She still knew how to annoy him, how to make him uncomfortable, and now she decided to twist the knife further.

"It would be a terrible shame if Philip and I found ourselves unable to live with one another, wouldn't it?" she said.

Her brother glared at her. "What are you saying, Lydia?" he asked.

"Well… we're to be married without any kind of courtship. We hardly know one another, do we? He's a stranger to me, though we have a past, of course. But… that doesn't mean we'll find companionship easy," she said.

There was still so much to be thought through, so many questions that remained.

Ezra shook his head. "I'm sure you'll work it out, Lydia. The two of you had no trouble in getting reacquainted. I'm sure you'll have no trouble in… falling in love, if that's what you're referring to. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."

Lydia knew there was no point in arguing further. Ezra's mind was made up, and she would have no choice but to marry Philip. But it was his words about love that had caught her off guard.

Could she really fall in love with Philip? He had been a friend to her. They had drifted apart. There had been a falling out of sorts, but it had been so petty as to hardly be worth troubling themselves over now. Lydia had been glad to meet with him after so many years apart, and there was no doubting the possibility their friendship could blossom. But as for falling in love…

How could I fall in love with him? I don't know him. He was like a brother to me.

As children, Lydia and Philip had taken one another for granted. There had been no question as to the nature of their relationship. Innocence had dictated their behavior. The question of something more than simple friendship had not arisen, neither would it have had this situation not arisen. As she returned to the drawing room, she could only wonder whether she could fall in love with Philip. Did she even have to fall in love with him? Did she want to?

"Oh, there you are, Lydia," Lady Morton called as Lydia entered the room.

Lydia glared at her—she wanted her mother to know how angry she was. This was not a matter of an arrangement having successfully been made. It was something forced, and, in Lydia's opinion, entirely unnecessary.

"I've just been speaking to Ezra," Lydia replied.

"And… have you… come to an agreement?" her mother asked.

Lydia shook her head. As far as she was concerned, there was no agreement to come to. Ezra had made his decision, and she would have no choice but to abide by it.

"He's made his position clear, and I've made my position clear, Mother. That's all that matters, isn't it?" she replied.

Lady Morton sighed. "Don't you think providence has played a part in this? You surely weren't expecting to meet Philip again after all these years… Perhaps you were waiting for him."

Lydia groaned. "I've never heard such nonsense, Mother. If Philip and I are to be forced to marry, then so be it. But I won't have it spoken of as though it was fated to occur," she replied.

Her mother fell silent, a look of disappointment crossing her face. But Lydia did not feel sorry for her. She was angry, and she was not about to pander to the inevitable reply her mother was about to give.

"I just want you to be happy, Lydia. I worry about you. The others are all settled—Ezra has the title, Derek has the Church, and Graham will soon enter the military in one way or another. But as for you… you're not like other young ladies," Lady Morton said.

Lydia groaned for what felt like the hundredth time. She was tired of being told she was different. She wanted to be different, and she did not care one bit about being so.

"And I'm glad of it. I want to be different," she stated.

"Yes, but it hasn't helped you make a match, has it?" Lady Morton pointed out.

Lydia shook her head. Her mother was right, but as for finding a match…

"No, but I'd rather remain a spinster than be forced into a match I don't want," she insisted.

"But perhaps this is a match you want. Think about it, Lydia. He's the Earl of Walford, a man of good fortune and success. He's been a friend to you. Why not a husband, too? It's not as though a suitor was simply plucked from the ether. If anything, you know Philip better than any man, except perhaps your brothers," Lady Morton argued.

As to this, Lydia could not disagree. It was true. Philip was all those things, and he had been a good friend to her. The fact they had drifted apart had been as much her fault as his own. But seven years now separated what had been from what now was. It was a long time—time enough for so much to change. Lydia had changed. She had grown up, and her sense of independence had grown with her.

"I suppose that's true," she relented. "But there's so much I don't know about him either, Mother. For all I know, he might be in love with someone else."

It was a possibility, and one Philip, too, might be fearing.

"And so might you, Lydia. Besides, you're not getting married tomorrow. You've got a few weeks before the license is granted," her mother said.

Lydia shook her head. It did not matter if it was two days or two weeks, or two months or two years. Love was not a matter of time, it was a matter of feeling. Lydia had never been in love. She did not know what it felt like or how it should be. But one thing was certain, she was not in love with Philip.

"And am I to get to know him in those two weeks?" Lydia asked.

Her mother nodded. "Absolutely, yes. That's precisely what you're meant to do. I'm sure he'll be amenable to it. The two of you get on well—you've proved that already. Too well, perhaps."

Lydia sighed. Again, her mother was right. It had surprised her how easily she had slipped back into her old ways—as had he. They had behaved in an almost childlike manner together, though no longer with the innocence of age to excuse them.

With Philip, Lydia could feel as she had felt all those years ago—as though nothing else mattered but the present moment. It was a feeling she had long since lost, and yet it was one so easily rediscovered.

"I suppose so. I like him. I was nervous about the prospect of the wedding. I thought… well, seeing him after all these years, it was bound to be difficult. But it wasn't. Not really. And seeing him again at the Hope Ball… that was the same. It wasn't awkward. But now… oh, I don't know. I don't know if I can do it, Mother," Lydia mumbled.

Her mother looked at her sympathetically. "Marriage is something we get used to. It's not meant to be perfect from the first moment. My marriage to your father certainly wasn't. But we grew to love one another. It's a strange thing, but it's true."

Lydia nodded. It surprised her to hear her mother speak like this. She had always assumed her parents had fallen in love at first sight. But the way she described it was far more realistic.

Lydia had no hope of happiness if she was not at least open to the possibility. Perhaps love would come, or perhaps it would not. She had so many doubts—fears, even. What did Philip really think? Was he doing this willingly, or did he feel under duress?

"Perhaps it is, Mother, but… I'm not sure I want to get used to it. Philip was a friend—a good friend. But he's as good as a stranger now. If anything did happen—which it didn't—it was a moment of foolishness on both our parts. But should it really determine the course of the rest of our lives?" Lydia argued.

Her mother sighed. "You've made your bed, Lydia, you've got to lie in. Like it or not, your brother's made his decision. You're going to marry Philip, and that's that."

There was no point in arguing further. The matter was settled. Lydia and Philip would be married, and no amount of complaining on Lydia's part would change her brother's—or her mother's—mind.

Dejectedly, she left the drawing room, stepping out into the garden from the hallway and standing in the sunshine. She remembered the last time she and Philip had been there together—a carefree moment of innocence, lost forever.

And now we're to be married.

She feared neither of them would ever grow used to the idea, or fall in love…